Proud
by glitch and gremlin
Summary: He's ashamed of what he had done. He's not proud of what he truly is. But... [Killua centric, one shot]


**Disclaimer:** Don't make me laugh.

**Notes:** This is just my idea on how Killua Zaoldyeck, _the _coolest and cutest (ex-)assassin, acquired a conscience. It might be a little boring—but please please please read it all the way through:begs and clings like a barnacle:

**Pairing:** There actually is no pairing! (I know, I am just as surprised as you are...)

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**Proud**

They were so happy the first time I did it.

Alluka and Kalluto were just babies then, and Milluki was busy watching one of his stupid anime videos, so they didn't know what I had done...but Mom (before she turned into a cyborg freak) hugged me so hard that the bruises she left on my back and arms didn't go away for days. Dad gave me a pat on the head, something he didn't do often. And Illumi even congratulated me, smiling that...creepy smile of his.

They were so _proud _of me.

But I was confused at the time so I couldn't revel in their praise. Why were they so happy? I was just a kid then, so I didn't _really_ know right from wrong; however, at the time, I thought I might have done...something very wrong.

After all, you weren't supposed to kill your playmates, right?

And I didn't _mean_ to kill _him_. I don't remember his name and no one else does either, but I know he was a good person. He was the son of a tower-guard and a chef, so he was born a Zaoldyeck servant...but he was about my age, maybe a year or two older, and we played together despite social status. I don't know if we were "friends," it was never officially said, but I knew he would never hurt me and I...thought I would never hurt him.

But one day...when we were just playing around...I meant to push him into the creek because he put a frog under my shirt...we_ really were_ just playing around...really...

But my hand slipped, _sank_, right through his chest and out his back—then came a flourish of crimson, warm, thick liquid running between my nails and fingers. Silence swallowed our laughter.

At first, I didn't know what I had done—I just remember that look on his face. Surprise, shock, bewilderment, eyebrows arched high, eyes wide, lips parted. He was as surprised as I was. Then he fell in the shallow water, tried to stand up, tried really hard, but pain distorted his face and shook his body till he finally gave up.

It happened fast. It seemed slow.

I carried him back to Goto for help, ran faster than I ever thought possible, but I knew he was long dead. I was never up close and personal with a dead body till then, but anyone would know a corpse if they saw one. Within a minute after the heart stops beating, an unmistakable gray-white pallor veils the face, the skin; I've seen it many times.

But during that time of my very first kill, I knew he was dead because of the way his arms felt to the touch. Cold. Artificial.

As I laid him onto the floor, so Goto could get a better look, I got a glimpse of _his_ eyes. Whenever _he_ had laughed or pouted, they were a rich golden color...just like the citrine gemstones on my grandmother's favorite necklace (which I had accidentally snapped in two when I was a toddler). But, as he laid there, lifeless and soulless, they were a dull color of yellow...just like sand. It was only a glimpse, just one glance of his half-lidded eyes, but it cut through me, just as my hand had cut through his skin and bone. _My_ wound didn't bleed, not like how he was bleeding on that beige carpet, but it left a scar. A deep one that only I could see and feel.

I wasn't _sure_ if I had done something wrong because of the way _they_ smiled, patted, and congratulated me. After all, it was the first time I had tapped into the power that only the Zaoldyeck lineage had: the power to manipulate our bodies, to make our hands into weapons that could break metal and stone, skin and bone. We were born as natural hunters, natural predators, natural killers. Sometimes I wonder if we just _look_ human...

Anyway, on with the story. Where was I?

Oh. Yeah...well, I just didn't understand why everyone was so happy, why no one mourned for my friend's—my servant's death. No one seemed to notice _he_ was gone but me...But then I fell ill, coincidentally after I had a few bites of dinner. I was confined to my bed, my body ridden with a high fever.

And that was the problem.

Zaoldyecks _never_ get sick—they get poisoned. There is no poison that can kill a Zaoldyeck, but the strongest of poisons can affect us. And there were only a _few_ people that knew which poisons could do that...

His parents, his mother who was a chef and his father who was a guard, were executed. I don't remember much, I didn't see them die, but it was then that I _knew_ I had done something wrong...something unforgivable. His mother attempted to kill, _assassinate _(ironic, eh?) me with a pure concentrate of Taipan-snake poison. She must have went through a lot of trouble to get a poison as rare as Taipan. And...now that I think about it...his parents didn't deserve to be executed on my behalf.

And so...the scar never disappeared, the thoughts never left. I grew up bearing that scar, the thoughts and memories were always there, even if they were nestled in the back corners of my mind. After every training session, every mission, every kill—the scar stung and made me flinch. And not many things in this world can make_ me_ flinch.

Life went on, things changed. My family began to wonder why I was so rebellious, so different from everyone else. They began to wonder why I would fight my instincts, why I was different from Illumi, why I would hesitate—just a millisecond or two—before I killed a living, breathing target. They wondered why I was so lazy, why I tried to avoid missions, why I tried to stay away from them all. They wondered why I attacked Mom, why I only smiled as she shrieked and covered her bleeding, slashed eyes with shaking hands.

They wondered. But I never told them. And I never will tell them. I'll never tell _anyone._

Not even you, Gon. I know you'll never ask because maybe you're waiting for me to tell you, maybe you don't even think about it—but no matter what the reason, I don't care. Sorry, but I will never tell you why I'm...like this.

What _would_ you do if I told you that I killed a helpless servant, a friend?

Would you fear me? Stay away from me? Tell me to leave? Stop speaking to me? Stop hugging me? Stop smiling that goofy smile at me? What would you do, Gon?

I don't want—I don't need to find out those answers.

I'll play it safe and never, ever tell you what I _went through_, what I _did_ to be who I am today. There are days when I'm afraid that my hand might slip through your chest the way it slipped through _his_. I'm afraid of losing control, I'm afraid of getting too close to you, and you probably wonder why—but I'll never tell you. I'm not proud of what I did, of what I _really_ am—a killer by nature—but...I'm proud of who I am when I'm with you. Just a friend. Just your friend. I'm proud of that. Really, I am.

Of course, I'll never tell you any of that either. I wouldn't be caught dead saying something as embarrassing as that!

**E.n.d.**

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Sappy, I know. I couldn't help it. 

Anyway...

So? So so so? What do you think? Was the plot realistic? Was it too sappy? Too out-of-character? Too Not-Killua? Please tell me, tell me, tell me! Criticize to your hearts' contents (or at least until your fingers get tired of typing). Thanks for reading!


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